Miley sat by the tiny airplane window, the past five minutes running on a continuous, jumbled loop through her head. 'He loves me? How can he just spring that on me ten minutes before I leave? He's had two whole weeks. If he'd told me earlier, maybe—maybe we could have talked about it or something. I'm eighteen, with enough time I could have changed the flight…But I mean, what was he thinking? That I would just drop everything and tell him I love him, too? I have tickets. I have my dad to meet. I have…I have to get off this plane.'
She stood up suddenly.
A passing flight attendant asked her to please sit down and fasten her seatbelt, they were about to take off.
"You don't understand, I have to get off this plane."
"It's too late for that. The captain's preparing to taxi."
"No, this is urgent…I—I'm going to throw up!" The man in the seat next to her inched closer to the aisle. Miley glared at him.
"The best I can offer you is an air-sickness bag and the lavatory once we're in the air—now please, miss, take your seat."
"But I have to get off—I forgot something very important!"
"Sit down, miss, please."
Miley sat down in frustration, fuming.
Suddenly an idea struck her. She rooted through her bag and jammed her Hannah wig onto her head. She jumped up. "Look everyone! It's me, Hannah Montana! Who wants autographs?"
Chaos erupted in the plane.